


Sacrifice to the unknown god

by Sorsa



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, M/M, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 11:27:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7530940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorsa/pseuds/Sorsa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malik finds himself and his brother staring at a still waters of a swamp pond while knives are pressed to their necks. A gust of wind blows through the landscape just as Malik is about to lose his life as a sacrifice to Attar the goddess of the lands. </p>
<p>The wind brought death, destruction, and Altair with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacrifice to the unknown god

**Author's Note:**

> So HB just doesn't want to be written at the moment so I present even more weird AUs for the delight of all the people :D The background for this story is rooted in archaeological findings throughout the Northern Europe though the goddess Attar comes from pre-muslim middle-east. Apparently Attar was a fertility/water god(dess) with a wishy-washy gender :D
> 
> Beta-read by DarthTofu

The air was humid and the sky grey. A small band of people walked on planks laid on the murky treacherous lands beneath them. A misstep from them would lead to the person being swallowed alive by the swamp.

 

The swamp reached on for as far as the eye could see and was mainly covered only in small shrubbery and an occasional barely-alive tree. The soil smelled of half-rotten leaves.

 

The procession stopped at the end of the planks where a dark pond lay. Two people were brought forward with force to stand at the edge of the platform facing the waters. There was resistance in both of them but the sheer number of people manhandling them beat them into submission.

 

Malik looked at his left where his brother stared at the deep waters of the pond wide-eyed and scared. They were both on their knees and their arms were being pulled back in a deliberately painful way.

 

He knew why they were here. He had been dreading the day since the frost ruined the harvest the first time three years ago. Last year it had also been the frost and this year constant rain rotting the stalks. He had been praying to Attar constantly after the first catastrophe until the moment he was now in.

 

All that was left in him was the feeling of despair as he feared for his and his brother’s lives. He wondered if his father had felt the same when they had walked him through the same path leading to the same pond in the swamps when he had been only nine and Kadar had been four. That was almost ten years ago now.

 

His clan was made out of warrior chieftains who had protected the lands for centuries. The first thing they were required to do when they ascended to their roles was to marry the goddess of the lands, Attar, to ensure the fertility of the crops. When he had taken the vows to personally be responsible for the good harvest with his own life he had not really understood what the whole ordeal would mean if things went wrong.

 

Somebody kicked him in the back with a knee and pulled his left arm. A sickening pop sounded as his shoulder dislocated and he cried from the pain. He tried controlling his breathing and by doing so, the agonising pain he was feeling. The pool of endless black water seemed closer to his face than it had previously been.

 

He could see his reflection on the deceptively calm surface. He had only moments to live he knew. He watched the water skippers move on the water and tried concentrating on them instead of the throb in his shoulder.

 

Kadar screamed in pain. He tried frantically to turn to look at his brother but strong hands on his neck and arms prevented him from doing anything but useless struggle.

 

“Please leave Kadar out of this! I am the one responsible for all of this. He should not suffer for my mistakes!” he tried pleading like the innumerable times he had before. His brother was only a child of thirteen and didn’t deserve to lose his life over Malik not being able to satisfy the goddess.

 

“But you do not understand. Last time we sacrificed your father and it pleased the goddess for only six summers. The Al-Sayf clan clearly is not in favour of Attar any longer,” the booming voice Malik recognised belonging to Abbas stated. It was probably just a ploy from the Sofian clan to steal the power but it mattered very little as here they were bent over the sacrificial pond and most of the people were backing this plan.

 

“I hope you find yourself in the same position one day, Abbas,” he hissed. He got hit in the back of his head with a club, making his vision blur.

 

“Brother, I am scared,” Kadar cried. Malik wanted to comfort his brother but the hands still kept him in place.

 

Somebody shouted, “Hold him in place!”

 

Malik closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable end as he thought they would finally kill him and drain his blood into the pond.

 

Kadar screamed. Malik managed to turn enough to see what was going on. A man slit his brother’s neck from ear to ear. The gash looked like a grotesque second mouth spilling blood out of it. His instincts told him to fight the attackers so he trashed violently against his holders. Words came out of his mouth which he didn’t even know the meaning of as he tried to reach his brother.

 

He watched helplessly as they lowered Kadar’s body over the pond where the blood flowed swirling slightly on top of the murky water before disappearing under it. Kadar didn’t move any longer. His brother had a glassy stare in his blue eyes eerily similar to how their father had looked like when they had killed him. His father wasn’t a child but the fear was the same.

 

Somebody chanted prayers to Attar in the background. Malik felt nauseated, angry, and useless at the same time. An eagle cried somewhere and he hated himself for noticing useless details of his environment at the face of a certain doom.

 

When the blood flow stopped from Kadar’s neck they tied weights on his brother’s limbs and threw him into the pond. He watched helplessly as Kadar’s body disappeared under the surface. He knew he would follow after his brother in mere moments.

 

His head was forcefully tilted backwards. He struggled uselessly for the last time but didn’t manage to move even a one bit. A cold sharp knife pressed against his throat. He could smell the metallic smell of blood from the hands holding the knife and his head.

 

He closed his eyes in an anticipation of the inevitable fate waiting for him. He could hear his own heartbeat and breathing thundering over all the other noise in the background. His last moments felt painfully long. He silently wished they would just cut his throat already and be done with it, ending his torment at the same time.

 

Malik gritted his teeth. His heartbeat grew ever faster. The hand in his hair gripped more painfully and the knife dug into his neck deeper until it finally punctured the flesh. This was it. It was his end.

 

The knife and all the hands suddenly withdrew from him. He plunged almost over the platform into the dark waters as his weight wasn’t supported by his capturers. He grappled for a hold from the slippery planks with fumbling hands. His left arm refused to support his weight, sending searing pain as his shoulder joint hit something it wasn’t supposed to.

 

A gust of wind blew over the landscape raising peat and smelly water as it went. The people were suddenly screaming in panic all around him. He didn’t have time to comprehend what exactly was going on.

 

A small piece of wood hit him at the side of his face. He raised his arms to shelter himself from more oncoming projectiles. The humid air beat him with a force and all he could hear was the stilling noises of fear and the whoosh of air.

 

Then it all stopped as abruptly as it had started. The swamp was eerily quiet. He could not even hear any insects buzzing about.

 

He lowered his arms hesitantly and opened his eyes fearful of what he might witness.

 

Bodies, just bodies were littered everywhere in the near vicinity, some of them already sinking into the surrounding bog and some lying in heaps on the planks. And in the midst of the carnage a figure dressed up in a blindingly white garments.

 

He stared at the scene in front of him with his mouth open. He didn’t know if he should be angry, relieved, or scared. His life had been spared by some miracle but all the people and his brother were dead and this stranger was somehow connected to all of this.

 

The white clad stranger started off towards Malik. He noted how the man made no sound while walking as if he weighed nothing. Malik froze in place and clutched helplessly at his left arm.

 

The stranger stopped in front of him and looked down at him. The man had a facial expression which rubbed Malik in all the wrong ways. Silence stretched between the two.

 

“Who are you?” Malik snapped finally after he just couldn’t take the silence or the infuriating smirk on the stranger.

 

“I am Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad,” the stranger answered.

 

“ _Son of None_? That does not sound like a clan name,” Malik countered.

 

“Because it is not a clan name. I am the god of these lands,” Altaïr replied and didn’t show any hint of being anything but serious.

 

Malik’s jaw almost hit the ground. Altaïr had some nerve in him to claim to be a god.

 

“This land has no god but the goddess Attar. You are not only a liar but a poor one at that,” he snarled and decided he would finally stand back on his feet.

 

“That is a mispronunciation and a misunderstanding. There is no fertility goddess here – just me,” Altaïr announced as if he was some sort of godsent gift for humanity which he apparently was if his words were to be believed.

 

Malik managed to make it back to his feet. It was only now that he noticed he was slightly bleeding from below his ear and how little feeling his left hand had. He cursed slightly under his breath as he reached to touch the puncture wound but Altaïr beat him to it.

 

He flinched as Altaïr’s hand invaded his space but held himself in place. He simply gave a murderous stare at the man before him. Altaïr’s hand was warm to the touch as his fingers caressed Malik’s neck from where he was stabbed. Shivers ran down his spine and he wanted to flee from the situation as quickly as he could.

 

Then Altaïr pulled back his hand. Malik shot his own hand to where the wound had been and found nothing. His eyes widened from disbelief.

 

“You! What did you do!?” he questioned. Altaïr cocked his head as if he didn’t quite comprehend the words and then shrugged.

 

“I healed your wound,” Altaïr answered.

 

“Why?!” he shouted.

 

“You are still married to me. I do not want my husband to suffer needlessly,” Altaïr answered matter-of-factly.

 

That did it for Malik. Altaïr had some nerve to claim he didn’t want him to suffer needlessly as Altaïr was the one at fault for the bad crops and for his brother’s death. Malik was practically fuming.

 

He marched forwards not caring that Altaïr was blocking his path. As he was passing Altaïr who kindly made way for him he pushed the man out of his way with his good arm. In his rage he did put a bit too much force into his actions though and ended up throwing Altaïr out of the platform into the swamp.

 

He didn’t care though. He even got some sadistic satisfaction from managing to inflict some discomfort to a god. It wasn’t like any retaliation Altaïr could inflict on him would have much of an impact. He didn’t have anywhere to go back to and his life was supposed to have come to an end.

 

He didn’t dare to look over his shoulder at the deity’s reaction but he could only guess it wouldn’t be a pleasant one. He walked determinedly away from the pond and the scene. He didn’t know where he would go though.

 

There was no way he could go back to his village and his people. He was supposed to be dead. Sacrificed to the goddess Attar. Instead he walked out of the scene of massacre of a different kind.

 

He kept going until he was out of the swamp and headed to the woods. He didn’t dare to go near the barren fields in fear of being noticed by someone over the open landscape.

 

He stopped only when he reached the edge of the woods. His left hand felt numb and clumsy as he moved the fingers on it. He tried setting his shoulder himself but didn’t manage in the task despite how much he attempted to pull at his arm. Only thing he managed to do was to almost burst into tears as jolts of pain shot through the entirety of his left side.

 

So he slumped against a tree feeling angry and hopeless. He didn’t really know what he was supposed to do from now on. He had lost his brother to what apparently amounted to nothing and he was all alone. If he had been still a child he would have cried at the desperation of the situation but since he was not he didn’t.

 

He burrowed under the thick roots of the tree and curled himself into as tight a ball as he could. Then he fell asleep wishing it all had been just a bad dream.

 

*************************

 

It wasn’t a bad dream though as he found out the very next day as he woke up. His left shoulder was still dislocated and his hand was still numb. He was cold and miserable from sleeping outside without anything to warm himself up while wearing way too light clothes for the weather. He was also hungry which was out of all the feelings he was feeling the easiest one to fix.

 

He headed slightly deeper into the forest where he knew he would find berries, mushrooms and roots to eat. All the poor harvest years had made him very familiar with the offerings the forest had.

 

As he was picking up chanterelles into the the folded up hem of his shirt, Altaïr appeared. He was startled by the man so badly that he almost dropped all of his mushrooms. He had almost forgotten the ill-omened deity who had appeared yesterday and meddled in everything.

 

“What do you want?” he questioned. He wasn’t feeling particularly hospitable towards the man.

 

Altaïr looked unphased by his remark and sported just as pure white clothing as he had previously, as if the man had not taken a dive to the swamp.

 

“We are still married,” Altaïr answered as if that explained anything.

 

“We are two men. We cannot be married. It does not work like that,” Malik retorted and turned back to the cluster of yellow mushrooms he had found. He tried his best to ignore Altaïr.

 

“I do not see any reason why not,” Altaïr responded.

 

“You killed my family and destroyed my life! You have no right to demand anything from me!” he snapped.

 

Then he stomped away with his chanterelles, leaving the idiotic deity to stand stupidly at the small clearing they had previously been at. Altaïr should have made the harvest succeed, Altaïr should have intervened before they killed his brother, and Altaïr shouldn’t have killed all those people he did. Right at that moment Malik hated Altaïr more than anything in the world.

 

When he had walked off enough steam from his system he sat down underneath a tree which had its roots exposed by a landslide. He needed to be safely away from any predator’s teeth and claws.

 

He munched on the chanterelles thinking how much his meal would benefit from even a sliver of lard or butter. It was easier to concentrate on the flavour of the food than to the desperate situation he was in. He didn’t even have his flint with him, so he could get the fire started and other methods required properly working two hands.

 

*************************

 

The next morning he woke up to the uncomfortable feeling of Altaïr peering down at him. For a while he wondered how Altaïr kept finding him before his mind caught up. His mind flooded with all the emotions he had been feeling for the past few days. Most of it was rage.

 

He jumped on his feet. Punched Altaïr in the face and stormed off.

 

He had not expected to actually be able to land a hit on Altaïr. The stupid deity had another think coming if he thought he could just keep on stalking him. He wanted to have nothing to do with the man and he would rather force Altaïr to kill him out of rage than endure the man’s presence.

 

He reached a small river running through the woods. It was a shallow and muddy but he could have drink from it if he was careful not to collapse the bank which would muddle the water further.

 

He reached cautiously into the water. It would have been more effective with two hands but his left one had a very little feeling and the arm over all moved only slightly without pain.

 

He noticed crayfish in the water. He rolled up his pants and took of his shoes, and stepped into the cold stream. The crayfish were quick to move but he was quicker and managed to capture and kill quite a few of them.

 

At the end the water was so stirred that he could no longer find any more crayfish so he stepped out of the river. But on the bank was Altaïr who smirked despite having a visible bruise on his face. Who would have thought deities bruised?

 

Malik frowned as all the thoughts he had managed to put aside for the duration of hunting the crayfish resurfaced. He almost wanted to just abandon his catch and run off.

 

“I could help you make a fire, you know?” Altaïr suggested. It was the first helpful and reasonable thing that had left the deity’s mouth the entire time the man insisted bugging Malik.

 

“Why would you help me?” he asked suspicious and narrowed his eyes.

 

“I bet those crayfish taste better boiled,” Altaïr answered and shrugged like he didn’t care even though obviously he did. But Malik could not see the reason why.

 

“Fine,” Malik answered. He didn’t want to accept any help but he could not start fire by himself at the moment and yet he really could use the fire really badly.

 

He found yet another shelter for himself. Altaïr set up the fire and surprisingly enough did not use any kind of magic to do so. Malik eyed the man warily the entire time.

 

“Can you not just conjure fire at will? You are supposed to be a god after all,” he questioned while biting into the white flesh of the crayfish. His meal tasted much of the muddy riverbed but he was not complaining.

 

“I am a weather god not a volcano spirit,” Altaïr answered and was apparently slightly annoyed.

 

“What is a volcano?” Malik questioned as his curiosity was piqued. He had never heard of such a thing.

 

Altaïr looked surprised at his response. Was this some common knowledge he was not familiar with?

 

“It is a mountain that spits fire out of its top,” Altaïr explained matter of factly. Malik threw the remains of the crayfish he was eating at Altaïr.

 

“Sounds terrifying,” he said because such a thing sounded more like a fairytale than reality. Altaïr just shrugged.

 

The rest of the day and evening Malik spent attempting to return some feeling back to his limbs by basking in the fire. Altaïr simply sat by the fire not talking or even attempting at a conversation and Malik tolerated the man but only barely.

 

*********************

 

By the fifth day in the wilderness all alone, well except for Altaïr following him he had gone through pretty much all the negative emotions he possibly could. He had been depressed, he had been self-loathing, he had hated and raved.

 

He felt exhausted as he had not reached any conclusion as to what he should do with his regained life. He was currently surviving even if it was barely so but he had no long term plans. He could go like this only until the snows would arrive and then he would die as he had no proper housing or even clothing.

 

He stared at the still surface of the puddle in front of him. Altaïr’s face appeared into the picture. Malik frowned and raised his gaze to meet Altaïr’s.

 

“I could settle that for you,” Altaïr suggested while pointing at his left arm which hang pretty much uselessly at his side. He could barely feel his fingers any more. He could move them but he had almost no control over how tightly he gripped or if he gripped at all.

 

He weighed his opinions. He really didn’t trust Altaïr to not just rip his arm off. As far as he was concerned the man was cruel and uncaring as he had just let all of his people to suffer. He didn’t even want to know the asinine reasons Altaïr might have for letting the folk starve.

 

“Do it,” he then said as he reached the conclusion that even if Altaïr ripped his arm off it wouldn’t be any worse than what it originally should have been.

 

Altaïr stepped closer and slowly invaded his personal space. For a while as Altaïr grabbed his left arm they were way too close to each other. From up close Malik noticed Altaïr’s gold coloured eyes which looked almost like those of an eagle.

 

With a sharp tug Altaïr pulled his shoulder back in place. It hurt a bit but he refused to make any sounds of pain instead he just inhaled forcefully deep and bit his right arm.

 

He regained some of the feeling in his hand almost immediately. He didn’t dare to move his arm around a lot as it felt really raw but he was happy for now to have the mobility of his arm given back to him. Altaïr lingered on holding his arm a little bit too long before letting go. Malik didn’t comment on the gesture.

 

They spent the rest of the day in silence.

 

************************

 

Altaïr kept following him obnoxiously. Malik had thought he would be rid of the annoying deity if he just ignored him but apparently Altaïr just didn’t get the hint.

 

Malik was sitting by the fireplace trying his best to tie a crayfish trap out of willow. His work was frustrating as he still after having his shoulder settled he didn’t have full control over his fingers. He just wanted to throw his creation into the fire and watch it burn but it meant he would lose the hard work he had already put into it. Altaïr observed his doings silently as he always did which unnerved Malik.

 

“Why did you not save Kadar?” he asked because he was itching for a fight. Altaïr raised his brow questioningly.

 

“Who?” Altaïr responded.

 

“Kadar was my brother! They killed him right before my eyes!” he shouted.

 

“He was not important. He was not my husband,” Altaïr stated calmly.

 

Malik could not believe what he was hearing. He gritted his teeth almost painfully as the anger washed through him while he attempted to contain himself.

 

“And I am? How? My father was also killed as a sacrifice, yet you did not intervene – No, we had several years of good harvest after that. Why?!” he interrogated.

 

“Your father did not stay faithful to me but his death amused me enough to meddle with the weather for a while. You on the other hand have not strayed not even once even if you thought you were married to a female deity,” Altaïr explained.

 

Malik felt sickened. Altaïr thought he could just play with him as he pleased.

 

He got on his feet quickly and stared down at the smugly smirking deity before him. He threw the grayfish trap with as much force as he could towards Altaïr.

 

“I hope you choke on that piss which seems to occupy your head!” he growled and stomped off.

 

***********************

 

Altaïr seemed to always find him no matter where he went and no matter how much he wished he would not. The worst part about the whole ordeal was that he was starting to be used to Altaïr’s constant presence.

 

He didn’t want to get used to someone who was indirectly responsible for his brother’s and father’s deaths. It wasn’t like Altaïr had actually demanded a sacrifice to be made for him but somewhere along the lines the people had just decided that whenever things took a turn to worse it was time to sacrifice yet another chieftain.

 

But Altaïr had approved of the actions as he had sent better weather every time one of his ancestors had been sacrificed. As much as he wanted to hate the people he could not really do that either so he found himself at impasse with his feelings.

 

It was these thoughts he fiddled around in his head in one particularly cold night when the sleep just didn’t seem to find him. He shivered and attempted to curl into a small ball for extra warmth but it helped very little.

 

“Why do you not make the weather warmer? It is within your power, is it not?” he snapped at Altaïr who lay on his back on the other side of the crackling fire. Altaïr turned his head lazily.

 

“I cannot in this form,” Altaïr answered and went back into staring at the sky.

 

“So why do you not take the other form then?” he retorted.

 

“I am keeping the wolves and lions away from you. They will not dare to come close as long as I am here,” Altaïr responded.

 

“Did I ask you to do that? I am capable of taking care of myself,” he argued but his argument had less bite than he had intended.

 

He considered Altaïr’s words and if they held any truth to them. He realised he had not even heard any predators anywhere even though he most definitely smelled of blood and weakness for the longest time.

 

Maybe Altaïr was capable of feeling for others besides himself? He shook his head to be rid off such thoughts.

 

Altaïr stood up from where he was lying and dusted his clothes which were always eerily white. Malik observed suspiciously as Altaïr took the few steps to reach his side of the fire.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked in alarm as Altaïr lowered himself to his level.

 

“You are cold. I am warming you up,” Altaïr said and he could swear he could detect a hint of amusement in the voice.

 

Pair of strong arms pulled him against Altaïr’s body before he had time to protest. Altaïr was warm which made him want to curl up against him even more but also just throw the arrogant deity into the nearby river for his insolence. His body made his decision for him though as he all but melted against the man and fell asleep.

 

********************

 

The next morning he woke up to having a hand inside his shirt caressing his pectorals. He jolted up like an angry cat and kicked Altaïr on the side before hissing curses at the man.

 

Altaïr looked at him confused as if he didn’t understand what he had done wrong. How could someone not know a thing about personal boundaries?

 

The worst part though was that the touches were not entirely unpleasant either. He would never admit it aloud though. He felt repulsed by himself. He was not supposed to be soft like a woman and he wasn’t supposed to enjoy being caressed by another man.

 

He kicked the brackens growing in a thick layer over the forest floor as he walked through them. It brought him very little satisfaction but he did so anyway.

 

When he had managed to destroy enough ferns to fill some mental quota for destruction he collapsed down amongst them. He brought his knees up and leaned his face against his hand.

 

What was he doing with himself? Did his existence even have any meaning behind it any longer? His brother lying dead in the bottom of the pond in the swamp and he had the eternal shunning of his own people. All he could do was to hide in this forest and all he had for company was a deranged god who didn’t understand humans at all.

 

He felt lonely. He felt terrified. He felt at his wits end and wanted to just break into the tiny pieces and disappear quietly into the mat of brackens. He wanted to cry but he refused to do so.

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

Malik had not noticed when Altaïr followed after him but was not surprised to find the man standing behind him. There truly was no place where he could escape the man.

 

“No,” he answered and rubbed his face with his sleeve.

 

Altaïr frowned and looked unsatisfied with his answer.

 

“I do not understand,” Altaïr said with what had to be irritation laced in his voice.

 

“Why do you keep following me?” Malik asked in an attempt to change the subject and he was fully expecting some explanation how they were married.

 

“I am curious,” Altaïr answered.

 

“Curious about what?” he questioned as he looked surprised at the always ludicrously clean deity standing amongst the more than knee high brackens.

 

“Of humans. Of you. I want to learn why you cry, laugh, hate, love. I have watched things from afar for an eternity but I have always been alone,” Altaïr said with felt the most honest tone the deity had used the entire time.

 

“You are lonely?” Malik asked tentatively and blinked in surprise.

 

Altaïr nodded and looked away. Was Altaïr embarrassed? Malik didn’t quite know how he was supposed to react. It wasn’t a situation he had ever faced before.

 

He stood up from the ground and fully turned to face Altaïr. They just kind of stared each other in silence trying to measure each other up.

 

“Come. Help me dig up the roots of these brackens. So we can have something on the side with the crayfish,” Malik said after considerable amount of time had passed in silence.

 

Altaïr looked visibly disgusted at the idea of digging through the soil.

 

“This is part of the learning experience,” he said with good humour and that he was capable of such a thing surprised himself.

 

***********************

 

One evening they were cuddling against each other for warmth. And he had to keep telling himself it was just for warmth as he latched himself on Altaïr as soon as they made it back to their makeshift camp near the stream where he trapped crayfish and got his drinking water.

 

It also was only for warmth when they would slip their hands underneath each other’s garments. He definitely did not enjoy being petted by Altaïr and it was why he always leaned into the touch almost against his will.

 

There was no way he liked running his hands on Altaïr’s ridiculously muscled body feeling the soft skin underneath his touches. He may have his head pressed against Altaïr’s shoulder but he did so only because he was too tired to carry his head by himself.

 

“Do tell me how does Altaïr the weather god turn into Attar the fertility goddess,” he asked because Altaïr didn’t have anything feminine in him apart from the stupid hip swing the man had while walking, or more like when strutting. Altaïr never simply walked but went around as if he owned the whole place, which he in a way did.

 

“At first the chieftains were women and just like the chieftains of today they were married to me for life,” Altaïr started his explanation.

 

“How can a woman lead people?” Malik asked sceptically. Women were hysterical and couldn’t lead even a few sheep from pasture to another.

 

“I was more in contact with them back then than I have been with the people of now. That was until you, of course. But people forget and they forgot my name which slowly transformed into Attar,” Altaïr said.

 

“You mean like the children’s game gossip?” he questioned. Altaïr nodded.

 

“With the name they also soon didn’t have much of a grasp on my gender either. But as soon as the first man became a chieftain they cemented that Attar was a woman. Imagine how it feels like when you are called with wrong name and thought to be something other than what you are for generations upon generations,” Altaïr concluded.

 

“You could have appeared before them and corrected them,” he suggested.

 

“But I did appear before them,” Altaïr said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

Malik thought about the way Altaïr had appeared. There was nobody besides himself left alive from that encounter and he couldn’t go back to correct the people. He didn’t have the heart to tell that to Altaïr though and he wasn’t even completely sure if he even wanted to help the people any longer.

 

“Yeah you did,” he said and fitted himself against Altaïr’s warm body more snugly.

 

***********************

 

The days were noticeably shorter than they had been before. The air had a distinct cold bite to it even though it had yet to freeze even once but it was clear that soon it would be winter.

 

Malik sat on top of a large rock and watched the landscape below him. He could see smoke columns rise at a distance and he knew they came from his village. There was the forest between himself and his people.

 

He missed home. He missed the old woman who people gathered around to listen to her singing songs. He missed the smell of freshly baked bread emanating from people’s homes. He even missed the terrible gossip and the angry dog who would bite people.

 

He sighed and stood up to leave the place. Altaïr was there as he always was.

 

“Do you miss your home?” Altaïr asked.

 

“No,” he answered.

 

“When will you go back?” Altaïr asked and pointed towards the smoke columns. Malik frowned.

 

“Soon,” he answered and walked past Altaïr their shoulders brushing together as he did so.

 

Altaïr grabbed his arm and turned him around.

 

“I want you to sing for me,” Altaïr said abruptly without letting go of Malik.

 

“Why?” he questioned.

 

“I know you can. I have heard you sing before. I want you to sing for _me_ ,” Altaïr all but demanded.

 

Malik sighed again but complied. He sang just as well as all the rest of his people but it was nothing fancy. Yet Altaïr looked like Malik was something to be worshipped as he sang of rain, of crops, of hunts, and of home.

 

And maybe he liked the attention just a little bit.

 

*******************

 

The land froze over and there was something wrong with his left arm. It was like everything was coming crashing down on him all of a sudden.

 

He managed to keep on going just barely. He felt so cold all the time and he wasn’t even sure if it was just because of the temperature. It was like a chill and settled bone deep in him, making him feel weak.

 

His left arm hung uselessly at his side and whereas it had been at least somewhat useful previously now it was only hindrance. He could move it only slightly from the shoulder but any feeling he had regained in his fingers was gone along with the mobility. It should have terrified him but it really did not and certainly not to the extent it should have.

 

During the evenings and nights he curled up against Altaïr’s ever-warm body which now felt like it had been made of burning coals. It was pretty much all he wanted to do during those days as he felt so tired all the time.

 

“What happens to the people when they die?” he asked and felt Altaïr shift slightly.

 

“Why do you ask?” Altaïr responded.

 

“I am just curious,” he said.

 

“I do not know. After all I am a human construct if anyone it should be you who knows the answer for this question,” Altaïr said.

 

“What do you mean a human construct? I thought humans were created by gods?” he questioned tiredly.

 

“All the gods look like the humans who created them and share the basic values with them. Is it coincidence?” Altaïr answered.

 

Malik snorted.

 

“You are an arrogant ass and a spiteful being on top of that. Besides your skin is much lighter than mine,” he retorted.

 

Altaïr smirked as if Malik had complimented him.

 

“Your people used to have lighter skin and maybe they were asses back then? They _did_ mispronounce my name and forgot I was not a woman,” Altaïr said.

 

“Point taken,” he concluded as he felt too tired to continue the conversation any longer.

 

As his eyes closed almost against his will Altaïr asked him,

 

“You will stay with me, will you not? I do not want to be alone again.”

 

“I will not leave you,” he managed before the sleep claimed him.

 

He did not wake up again. And there was a hail storm the next day.

 

 

The end


End file.
